The wonder of golf, and the vagaries of rank weekend amateurs like you and me playing the game in futility, does produce some sights and moments that are almost too much to believe.
So if I may, this photo shall serve as "proof" that the following happened. I swear to Lebron, this happened. I mean, swear to god, god. Sorry. I keep doing that....
My boy Mike McGowan (who is often quoted in this space my "Conscience of Cowboy Nation") was playing with me today in the lovely 94 degree July heat at my fabulous home course, Westfields GC in Clifton, Virginia.
On the lengthy and difficult par-4 6th hole, he flew his iron approach long and over the green into a mulched bed near some small trees. As I was looking down at the scorecard awaiting his shot, I heard a "whoosh-climp" and then..... silence.
"Where did that go," Mike asked? Sheepishly, I had to apologize for not looking, but for chrissakes, it was a 20 yard pitch shot out of mulch near three measly saplings!
Well, low and behold, there it was. Like the Twilight Zone episode where the guy lands a quarter on edge. Of course, Mike couldn't suddenly read minds after this (or he just politely ignored me thinking: man, he really does suck!) but he had a good laugh along with the rest of our group.
Did he play it from here? No. He did not. Mike knows, when enough is enough. Personally, I would have played that bitch from that tree. There's no lie in golf too hard to withstand choking down, swinging hard, and closing your eyes!
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